


Essence

by Udunie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brain tumor, Daddy Kink, Developing Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, THERE WILL BE NO DYING IN THIS FIC, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-26 13:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5006317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Udunie/pseuds/Udunie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were headlights coming up behind him, and Stiles had the hysterical thought that all he needed right now was to be found by some wayward axe-murderer, but when the car stopped, he did actually recognize it.</p><p>“Need a ride?” Peter asked, popping the door open.</p><p>And really, what could he lose?</p><p>Or</p><p>The one where Stiles makes a miraculous recovery</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ghfan98](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghfan98/gifts).



> This fic was prompted by the lovely - and also, generous, patient and understanding - ghfan98. I hope you will like it, even though it grew a couple of heads and ran away with my muse :D
> 
> Betaed by the amazing Emma, who helped a LOT with hammering out the details. You're the best, hon!

They didn’t exactly talk about it, but somehow, the whole pack decided to take a gap year after graduation. They all needed a bit of time to breath.

Scott continued to work for doctor Deaton. Derek and Peter did whatever the fuck Hales were doing when they weren’t skulking after people, Allison worked in her dad’s office, and started teaching self-defence for women in the community center.

Erica worked in her dad’s garage - Stiles knew there had to be a reason behind her hitting him with a car part - apparently dismantling vehicles was kind of like a hobby for her. Boyd, of course, kept working at the ice rink.

Isaac - to nobody’s surprise - actually moved a city over, and was doing a bit of modelling. There were scarfs involved.

Lydia didn’t exactly have to work, so she and Jackson just kind of hung out, going shopping a lot and acting like they owned Beacon Hills - business as usual.

Stiles… Well. Stiles didn’t exactly have too many marketable skills other than researching, so he kind of started doing that for money. Not just for college kids, but also for people on the… more supernatural side of the spectrum. It was fun. And it was nerve wracking. He had no idea so many monsters existed - even things that weren’t in the bestiary - and he couldn’t help thinking about them coming to their town sooner or later. It was stressing him out a bit.

It was the perfect time to get their little rag-tag team come together a bit tighter, but… They didn’t. Scott did try, bless his soul, but it was hard with so many different kinds of people who basically all hated each-other.

So, yeah.

He wasn’t exactly miserable; he still met up with Scott and Allison and on occasion even with Lydia, but he couldn’t help thinking Beacon Hills was basically a trainwreck waiting to happen.

And then there was Peter.

Stiles didn’t trust him when he so conveniently came back from the dead - nobody did - but why he was suddenly so fascinated with Stiles was a true mystery.

On one occasion, he managed to corner the werewolf (after a failed attempt at pack bonding over movies at Derek’s) but all he got out of him was a wink and a look that made him both embarrassed and creeped out.

 

***

 

Stiles had no idea when it actually started - when he began forgetting things.

Maybe he forgot that too.

But, then he forgot his grandma’s birthday, which was alarming enough - ever since his mom died it was his job to remember dates like that, because his dad might have been an excellent detective, but he couldn’t even remember his own birthday…

Except, Doris, the old lady at the post office, gave him a bit of a puzzled smile.

“Two letters to your granny in a week, Stiles? Is she doing okay?”

He probably looked just as puzzled as he blinked right back at her.

“Um. What?”

“Well, you’ve sent her another card just two days ago, so I was wondering if she was alright…” she said, and. Fuck. Doris had absolutely no reason to lie to him about that. So it must have been true, but he couldn’t - for the life of him - remember coming to the post office. At all.

“I… ugh. Yeah, yeah, she’s fine. Actually… actually I just remembered that I… See you later, Doris,” he said, not caring that she was calling after him. He had to get some air, right now.

Stiles stopped outside, leaning against the wall and just breathed for a few minutes, trying to calm himself down.

Something wasn’t right.

It was weird that he didn’t notice it before.

When he went home, he looked around with fresh eyes, and what he saw made him break out in a cold sweat.

Apparently, he had been forgetting things for a while.

It wasn’t noticeable at first glance, but now that he was looking for it, he could see it... there were a lot of post-its; all over his schoolwork, littered on his desk, on the fridge. Simple, inconspicuous things. Some keywords for his research, titles of books, page numbers, shopping list.

It was all completely normal, except for the fact that Stiles knew that he didn’t need this many reminders a few months ago. Yeah, he had ADHD and sometimes his concentration was shit, but that didn’t mean he was a scatterbrain.

Something was definitely wrong.

 

***

 

The headaches started about a week later. Nothing much at first, just a dull throbbing that made it hard to think, but it didn’t last long. At first.

But, as the weeks passed, it got worse - like most things in his life did - until he spent hours holed up under the covers wishing that he could just detach his head for a few minutes.

He felt dizzy when he got up too suddenly and he had to completely abandon breakfast if he didn’t want to throw it all up later...

Research was his forte, and he already had a very good idea what was going on… but, a stupid, stubborn part of his fucking brain refused to accept the truth.

 

***

 

One Monday, Stiles had a nap - hoping that it would cure his seemingly never-ending headache and it was already dark outside when he woke up. That was becoming the norm recently - his sleeping schedule was all kinds of fucked up - but he didn’t think anything was worse than usual until he turned the lights on.

A good chunk of his field of vision was missing on the right side.

Stiles sat there, turning his head this way and that, blinking and trying not to go into full blown panic. It didn’t help.

Fuck. Fuck.

His brain kind of switched to autopilot and he stormed out of his room, down the stairs, almost knocking over a side-table because he couldn’t fucking see it and grabbed his keys.

Driving when he could barely see was not a good idea.

Stiles was not known for good ideas.

He had no idea how long he drove around the town, vision going even worse with tears blurring his eyes - it was a miracle that he didn’t end up in a ditch somewhere…

But in the end, what he didn’t see was the huge pothole right in front of his car when he barreled right over it. The Jeep almost flew off the road, only avoiding running straight into a tree by a hairbreadth before he finally managed to stop at the side of the road.

Stiles just closed his eyes and breathed, trying to understand how close he came to dying. Fuck.

He got out, legs shaking with shock and adrenaline as he walked around in the dark to see the damage. As much as he even could at the moment… One of the front tires was totalled, the rubber in shreds with the metal peeking out from under it.

Fuck-fuck-fuck.

There were headlights coming up behind him, and Stiles had the hysterical thought that all he needed right now was to be found by some wayward axe-murderer, but when the car stopped, he did actually recognize it.

“Need a ride?” Peter asked, popping the door open.

And really, what could he lose?

 

***

 

Peter knew that something wasn’t right with Stiles. He couldn’t not know.

It wasn’t even the fact that he started following the boy around in his free time - though he could smell the scent of pain and misery drifting out of Stiles’ window multiple times during the last few weeks. No, he felt it.

It was hard to put it into words, hell, it was hard to even comprehend it after everything he lost in the fire, but by now he knew it was a fact. Stiles was his mate.

Interestingly enough, he never felt their connection before, just after he came back from death - maybe dying somehow wiped his soul clean of the bonds he had before, making room for new ones. He didn’t know. He didn’t particularly care, to be honest.

What he did care about was the boy trembling beside him, obviously freaking out.

There was a dull pain throbbing behind Peter’s right eye that wasn’t his own. He glanced at the boy in the mirror, but didn’t see any kind of injury, which was probably bad news. Humans usually had a hard time healing from things you couldn’t just stick a bandage on.

He hesitated for a second at the intersection, but in the end decided to go towards his own apartment. The Sheriff was working the night shift anyway.

Stiles didn’t even notice, he just sat in the passenger seat curled over with his face against the window. Peter wanted to reach over and just touch him, but it wasn’t the right time, not yet.

He didn’t stop until they were safely in the underground garage beneath his building, and that was the moment when the boy realized they weren’t at his house.

“Wh…?”

Peter was already out and opening his door before he could finish the question. Stiles didn’t get right out away, looking up at him with suspicion, so Peter got his most winning smile on.

“Come now, Stiles. I have a feeling you would rather not be home alone right now,” he said. It took a few seconds, but the boy nodded to himself in the end and got out. He almost walked into the car door, only saved by Peter’s quick reflexes.

Not good at all.

 

***

 

“Welcome to my humble home,” Peter said as opened the door. Stiles was too tired to even look around, even though at any other time he would have been dying from curiosity to get a scope on the place.

Right now, he was simply exhausted.

“Nice,” was all he managed, but he didn’t really look around. He didn’t want to know how much he was not seeing. He could practically hear Peter pout beside him.

“I expected a tad more enthusiasm,” the man admitted, then pressed a warm palm against the small of Stiles’ back and led him straight to the bedroom.

He couldn’t help going rigid at the sight, he should have known Peter wanted something, he just didn’t know he would be so forward about it…

“Oh, relax, would you?” Peter asked, rolling his eyes so hard it must have hurt. “You, my boy, need to sleep, and I will be a perfect gentleman, don’t worry.”

Stiles snorted, and tried not to think about the warm twist in his stomach at the way the werewolf said ‘my boy.’ But… It didn’t matter, did it? Peter could murder him right here, right now and it wouldn’t matter a bit, actually it would probably save him some pain.

“Sure,” he said, and got out of his clothes, willfully ignoring the feeling of those clever eyes on him.

He kept his t-shirt and his underwear on before collapsing onto the bed and moaning at the perfect firmness of the mattress.

“I’m glad you like it,” Peter said quietly before turning the lights off. Stiles didn’t care, he was already out.

 

***

 

At first, Stiles had no idea what woke him up. Or where he was, actually.

All he knew was that he was comfortable and well rested - which was pretty fucking rare these days - so he was understandably reluctant to investigate… A second later his phone chirped, probably what woke him up the first time, so he heaved a heavy sigh and picked it up, blinking at the screen in the dim light.

_hey bro, everything ok?_

_you didn’t come to the raid last night…_

Scott, of course. Stiles closed his eyes for a second, just wanting to go back to sleep when the realization hit him. He looked at his phone again, then around the room he was in.

His vision was back to normal. He had half a mind to just run out the door and high-five the first person who crossed his way, but then something moved behind him, making him freeze. Shit, where the fuck was he?

He turned around very, very slowly, not knowing what to expect. He remembered going driving in a close panic, but that was it. Another blank that he had to scramble to fill. He just hoped it wouldn’t be fatal.

Peter. Peter fucking Hale was the person staring back at him with a little crease between his eyebrows.

“From the expression on your face and the stench of panic I will make a wild guess. You don’t remember last night,” he said, cool as a cucumber.

Stiles had no idea if it was even possible to pale and blush at the same time, but he made an effort.

Shit. What the fuck happened last night? Did they…? Well, Peter was good looking, and he’d been sending flirty vibes Stiles’ way for a while now, but… Also, did Peter figure out that something wasn’t right with him?

The werewolf sighed.

“Well, in that case, I have some bad news about your jeep.”

 

***

 

Stiles had no idea what prompted him, but he told Peter everything over pancakes. Maybe it was the shock of seeing the man cooking him breakfast in his spotless, but obviously well used, kitchen. Maybe it was… well.

“A tumor?”

Stiles nodded. He spent hours researching, he pretended to be a medical student and asked the opinion of a professor who was specialized in diagnosing things in war-zones and other places where high-tech equipment wasn’t available. So, yeah.

“And why aren’t you in a hospital?”

“Yeah… about that. I’ve been told that someone having the kind of symptoms I do with this severity is probably a lost cause… Even if we had the money for everything, it would be like throwing money into… well, a grave or something,” he said as he tried to soak his pancakes in as much butter as possible. It wasn’t like he had to be afraid of developing heart problems. And no matter what it looked like, his hands weren’t shaking, damn it.

Peter gave him an unimpressed look.

“Wonderful analogy Stiles, really, I’m impressed,” he said, cutting off another bite from his pancake. “If you don’t mind, I would still like to ask a friend to take a look at you.”

Stiles snorted, because, seriously?

“Know a lot of brain surgeons?”

Peter gave him a little smile that was not an answer at all.

 

***

 

A week later he finally got his answer.

Peter drove him to the small, private clinic the next town over one afternoon, just picking him up with the Camaro when his dad had a late shift, like it was business as usual.

Which was good, because he didn’t want anyone to know about this. It… It was hard to explain why. The situation in Beacon Hills - with the ‘pack’ and everything - was already tense enough without him getting sick on top of it.

And his dad... Fuck, his dad had a lot on his plate already.

As it turned out, Peter knew a lot of brain surgeons. Three, apparently.

One of them even flew in from Texas just to have a consultation over Stiles’ head - literally.  

Stiles was kind of dumbfounded. First, by the fact that Peter knew three fucking brain surgeons, second, that he let himself be talked into letting them examine him at all.

In the end, it didn’t matter anyway.  

Yeah, he had a tumor. Yeah, it was bad. Yeah, he was going to die, and there was nothing to be done about it.

It was… Shit, he kind of knew all that before, but hearing it confirmed by the nation’s bests was still…

Crushing.

They didn’t talk on the way home. Peter turned the radio on, but kept it low, just a quiet murmur in the background.

Stiles had no idea what the werewolf was thinking. All he knew was that he was incredibly grateful for the warm hand on his knee.

It might have been the only thing keeping him together.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amazingly huge thanks to my lovely beta, Emma, who has been my rock, basically.

Really, it was no wonder that Stiles broke down eventually. It was after a pack meeting. Nothing serious, just a group of nomadic werewolves - without an alpha, even - passing through their territory. It was still a tiring night for someone who only slept six hours in the last two days.

Things were getting hard for him.

He hadn’t meet Peter since the clinic. Sometimes he had the suspicion that the man was lurking around his house, but he generally respected Stiles’ obvious wish to be left alone. He didn’t know why he was doing, if anything, Peter was the only person he could confide in, but still. He didn’t want it. It just… it didn’t make any sense but someone knowing made everything more real.

Not like there was any doubt left, but Stiles was adamant about keeping up the pretense of things being fine until he dropped dead. Or became a vegetable.

Anyway, the pack meeting didn’t go well. Lydia was sneering at Peter, Erica and Boyd were sneering at Allison, Jackson was sneering at Derek, Derek was… generally sneering at everyone. That guy was not fit for leadership, but Stiles didn’t feel like pointing it out, not when he had a headache the size of Alaska.

It was almost over, and Stiles was already planning on getting under the covers and hopefully never coming out when Scott plopped down next to him.

“Hey, dude. Are you… are you okay?” he asked, all soulful puppy eyes. Stiles could practically feel himself going tense with the need to make everything okay, at least on the surface.

“Sure I am, Scotty boy,” he said, trying to look as healthy as possible. Scott, bless his heart, didn’t seem convinced and actually started sniffing. Fucking werewolves.

“Are you sure? I mean, you look a bit… well, you look like shit,” he said, trying to lean closer, but Stiles pushed him away with a well aimed palm in his face.

“Down, cujo!” He tried to go for a chuckle, but it didn’t exactly work. Something was swelling inside him, pushing at the seams and making him desperate to get out, away from Scott being worried, away from Erica giving him a considering look, away from Lydia’s gaze…

He just had to leave.

Scott didn’t seem offended. In fact, he looked like he was two seconds away from throwing Stiles over his shoulder and taking him to Deaton, or even worse, to the hospital. That just wasn’t on.

“I’m fine, Scott. It’s just a stomach bug. I’ve been up half the night, throwing up last week’s menu,” he said. It was only half a lie, anyway.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Scott asked, going instantly into nursing mode - courtesy of Melissa, probably. “You shouldn’t have to be out when you’re sick. Shit, is the jeep’s still in the garage? I will give you a ride! Or… not. I came with my bike.”

It was adorable how earnest he was, Stiles couldn’t shake off the feeling that deep down Scott could feel that something was wrong, but his brain still grasped at straws. He didn’t know how it made him feel. Maybe he was just imagining things. Wouldn’t be a surprise.

“It’s cool. I can just…” he actually hitched a ride with Lydia, since Jackson was already at the loft, but on second thought, they probably wanted to leave together.

“I will drive you,” Peter said, out of nowhere, actually making the both of them jump because the old creeper was standing right fucking behind them.

“What?” Scott asked with a bit more bite in his tone then what Stiles was used to. He had the sudden urge to come to Peter’s defence, but the man was faster.

“Seriously? I’m not going to eat him on the way, I wouldn’t do that to the Camaro,” he said with an eyeroll. Scott looked at Derek for help but the Alpha actually nodded.

“True.”

“Are you okay with him?” Scott asked, obviously feeling uneasy about letting him share a confined space with Peter, but Stiles just twitched a shaky smile.

“Don’t worry so much, Scotty. You will get wrinkles.”

 

***

 

Peter ushered him to the car, opening the door for him and everything. A part of Stiles wanted to be annoyed. He wasn’t about to break, damn it.

But, the other part just wanted to… not be strong and collected all the time.

He curled up in the seat that by now felt close to familiar and closed his eyes, letting the thrum of the engine drown out his headache.

He wasn’t even surprised when they ended up at Peter’s building again. It probably should have been worrying the werewolf apparently knew that his dad had the night shift again, but he honestly couldn’t give a fuck.

It was hard to drag himself out and over to the elevator, every step feeling like he was treading in mud, but Peter was there. He didn’t touch him, or try to help him again, but he did kind of loom. It was almost sweet.

The man let them in, and Stiles had absolutely zero shame about immediately heading for the bedroom. He felt like he haven’t slept more than four hours in one go since the night he spent here. He threw his clothes off as he went, falling to the bed in only his t-shirt and underwear. He was cold. He was… falling apart, maybe.

Stiles didn’t have the energy to be shocked when a moment later he felt Peter getting into bed behind him. The man didn’t touch him, keeping a few inches between their bodies, but he could still feel the warmth.

At the same time, the closeness was too much and not nearly enough.

It was the final straw and he couldn’t stop everything from bubbling to the surface.

His body curled up into a tight ball, wanting to shrink to the point of just completely disappearing and he started trembling, trying to swallow back his tears.

He didn’t.

He hadn’t actually cried since he found out about this whole fucking disaster, but it seemed there was no going back now.

“I-I just… I want my dad,” he sobbed, hiding his face in Peter’s luxurious, soft covers and probably ruining them in the process. The words were only halfway out of his mouth and the werewolf was there, plastered against his back, curling around him. He was hot, hotter than any human could have been and Stiles somehow just started crying harder as the chill left his skin.

Peter’s arms held him close, breath huffing against the top of Stiles neck.

“That’s okay, Stiles. That’s completely fine,” he said, voice almost too quiet but still crystal clear.

He didn’t know what he wanted to hear, but that… that was good. Peter didn’t tell him that he would be okay, or that everything would be okay. Just that it was okay to miss his dad. He could live with that.

Stiles cried for a long time. He cried because his dad would be alone, because Scott would be alone, because his jeep would survive two of her owners. He cried because Grandma wouldn’t visit until christmas and by then he will be gone.

Stiles cried for a lot of things… and maybe a bit for himself too.

 

***

 

When he woke up, he was actually too comfortable to move. The feeling was almost foreign.

Yeah, okay, his head was hurting a bit, but he recognized the difference between ‘cried myself to sleep’ and ‘I have a tumor’. Peter was still in bed - which was weird, because after last time he had the impression that the werewolf was an early bird, but he wasn’t complaining; he was warm and relatively pain free and felt strangely… safe with the man’s bulk behind him.

“So,” Stiles said, because he was never one to pass up an opportunity to ruin the mood. “are you going to ask me?”

“About what?”

Fuck, he never heard Peter sleepy before. It was kind of nice.

“About taking the bite?”

Peter hummed and nuzzled the back of his head. His hands tightened around Stiles’ middle, making him want to squirm away - but not because he didn’t like it.

“I’ve already asked you once, I don’t see how this changes things,” the man replied.

Now, that got Stiles attention.

“Huh?”

Peter groaned and rolled away, sitting up and stretching. Stiles was grateful that the man didn’t see him shiver as his back was suddenly left cold without him there.

“Come now, Stiles. You are a clever boy. We both know it wouldn’t work… The others might like pretending that Erica is ‘cured’ but she did have at least one seizure after becoming a werewolf, and considering that the tumor is made up from your own cells, there’s very little chance of it going away, actually…”

“It would just speed up the process,” Stiles finished. He already knew that. It was the first line of investigation he did after he figured out what was wrong with him. It was worth doing all that research, because now he had a supernatural network outside of Beacon Hills. Unfortunately they said the same thing.

“Maybe I should get it then,” he said, feeling a bit put out that Peter ruined his big reveal. It would have been nice to bestow some knowledge on the man for once.

“Har-har,” Peter said, not sounding amused at all. “I’m making breakfast, so you can sulk for half an hour more.”

“Thanks,” Stiles whispered, after he was sure the werewolf was out of the room, burrowing deeper into the covers.

 

***

 

He had no idea how it happened, but Peter just kind of became the only fixed point in his life. Yeah, his dad was there, and Stiles tried spending as much time around him as he could, but it was hard what with hiding his condition. The same went to Scott.

Lydia… Stiles was very careful to avoid being alone with her. She was way too smart, and even though Stiles was at least 80% sure that she would keep his secret, he still didn’t want to risk it.

When his dad had the night shift, he stayed over at Peter’s. It got to the point when he just let himself in with the spare key he stole when he spent his second night there - not like he had any delusions of Peter not noticing it.

It was convenient because he had a lot of work to do that he couldn’t get to at home.

“What the hell are you doing?” Peter asked one day when he came home to find Stiles sprawled out on the floor in the living room with books and old-looking scraps of paper surrounding him.

“I’m writing a cookbook,” Stiles admitted, not even bothering to look up. He knew the man didn’t really mind. If he did, Stiles would be dead by now.

“A cookbook?”

He couldn’t help grinning at the tone, he loved it when he managed to baffle the man.

“Yup.”

Peter sighed and went to get undressed. It was funny that the usually prim werewolf actually couldn’t wait to get out of his fancy jeans when he got home. Of course, Stiles was used to it by now, but he had to admit to still being a little gobsmacked whenever he was confronted with Peter in loose track pants and soft, worn t-shirts.

It wasn’t different now either. When the man came out of his room he made the mistake of looking up, and his heart skipped a bit.

Damn it, he should have been immune to the sight by now, but it wasn’t that simple.

Nothing in his life was that simple lately.

“We should have sex,” Stiles said, immediately feeling himself flush. Where the fuck did that come from.

Peter stopped in his tracks, but there was nothing in his face giving away what he was thinking. Stiles kind of wished for his fucking tumor to just explode to save him from the embarrassment.

“Why, you don’t want to die a virgin?” Peter asked, leaning against the doorway and looking down at him with those all too clever eyes.

Stiles thought for a second. Was that it? He… didn’t think so. Yeah, it might have been part of it, but not everything. He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling like this was some kind of a milestone. Maybe the last one for him.

“No, I just want to feel like I’m alive.”

 

***

 

Peter knew he shouldn’t be doing this. Stiles was vulnerable, and desperate, and making one bad decision after the other… But he couldn’t not.

Not when he had his mate right in front of him, all shaking from pent up frustration, eager and sweet and smelling like impending disaster.

Stiles was beautiful. His back was a pale canvas of skin, dotted with foreign constellation that made his wolf long for unfamiliar skies. The boy moaned, long and musical as Peter twisted his slick fingers in his hole.

“Come on, come on, I’m ready!” he said, voice rough with want. Peter could sympathize, but that didn’t mean he would rush this, not when he didn’t know if there would be a next time.

“Almost there, just a little more,” he said, hating the way the words came out tinted with too much emotion. He shouldn’t get used to this.

Stiles let his chest flop to the bed, biting the pillow as Peter twisted again, scissoring his fingers. His hole was hot and wet and everything he wanted. He couldn’t wait anymore.

Even with everything urging him to just thrust inside, he forced himself to go slow, parting Stiles’ cheeks and watching as his cock slowly slid inside. The boy’s back arched, breath coming quick and moist against the pillow.

Peter couldn’t help a little growl escaping when he finally bottomed out. He couldn’t remember sex being this good, though he didn’t indulge much since the fire.

His palms slid up, smoothing over Stiles skin, all the way up his back, his thumbs tracing the delicate curve of his spine.

“So good, such a good boy for me,” Peter said, the words just refusing to stop. Stiles shuddered, clenching down around his cock and making him stifle a curse. Oh. Oh, he knew that game.

“You like that? Hm… Which part?” he asked, drawing back carefully and then pushing inside just as slow. Stiles whined.

“You like to be good? I know you do, sweetheart… Or you like it when I call you ‘boy’? _My_ boy. My own, sweet little boy.”

Stiles’ fingers twitched, hands scratching at the covers before curling up to cover his face from Peter’s searching gaze. Oh, that just wouldn’t do.

He slapped that smooth, tight ass lightly, making his boy jerk in surprise.

“Now, now. Don’t hide, Stiles. I want to see you. Daddy wants to see his good, clever boy as he falls apart.”

Stiles sobbed on a curse, hips twitching back to get Peter’s cock deeper into him, but he wasn’t budging; keeping his hands on Stiles’ waist and stopping him from fucking back to him.

“Tell me, baby, tell me what you want.”

He was pretty sure that Stiles was crying in earnest, but it didn’t smell bitter like anger or pain, it smelled like too much want and not enough satisfaction.

“I…”

“That’s it, baby, come on, you have to say it.”

“I want you to fuck me… daddy… p-please,” the boy said, barely more than a whisper, but more than enough for his ears to pick up on.

He could do that.

There was little he wouldn’t, if asked like that.

Peter bent down to lick a stripe up the back of Stiles’ neck, making him shiver deliciously before he started up again, thrusting slowly, but gaining speed with every jab of his hips. It was amazing. Stiles was soon reduced to a moaning, trembling mess, holding onto his pillow like it was the only thing keeping him together.

Peter smiled, and put a little more force behind his thrusts. He wanted to hear it, he wanted to hear every precious moan as his boy finally fell apart.

He didn’t have to wait long - just as well, because he was about to come embarrassingly soon, like a teenager. Stiles was loud, grunting and whining and choking on his own voice as he came closer and closer to orgasm.

“Just like that, baby boy. Come for me, show me how much you like it.”

“D-daddy, daddy please…”

For a second, Stiles’ eyes opened, glancing back and up at Peter. He had no idea what he saw, but a second later the boy was coming, whole body going gloriously tight. That was all Peter needed and he doubled over too, cock twitching and pulsing as he filled Stiles with his come.

He stopped like that, nose pressed against the thin skin of the boy’s neck, just breathing him in and wishing for this moment to last. Just a little more.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, it's finished!
> 
> My eternal thanks to the lovely Emma who kept me in check and away from writing everyone completely OOC (which is not a small feat considering she haven't watched TW)
> 
> Thank you everyone who kept up with this fic, I hope I managed to write an end that is somewhat satisfying...

Stiles probably should have expected it, but it was still difficult the handle how… Everything changed after they had sex but still, it barely did.

He still went to Peter’s apartment to work on his cookbook and other projects he wanted to get done, they still snarked with Peter making him breakfast without fail whenever he spent the night.

Peter still took his pain whenever his head felt like it was coming apart but now they did it curled up under the covers, naked. Stiles in a tight miserable ball with Peter enveloping him and slowly but steadily draining the hurt from his body.

They also… had sex. Not a lot of it, but enough. It was all new to Stiles and as much he was embarrassed by some of the things they did - because of course Peter caught every little kink he had and used it shamelessly - he did understand that he needed it in the most basic sense of the word.

He needed Peter. The man made him forget, but not in the way that had him panic and cry and hide, but like… being drunk. Everything was hazy and lustfilled and absolutely mindblowing. Stiles hated how it just made him want to live.

 

***

 

One night, he was at Peter’s when he was waken by nausea. He barely made it to the bathroom, throwing up the shitty pizza he goaded Peter into ordering for dinner. His head was… It wasn’t even hurting. It was pulsing with a blinding, overwhelming sort of pain that made his eyes water and had him heaving to the rhythm of it.

Peter was there, of course. He always was, when Stiles felt the most vulnerable. Maybe it was some sort of predatory instinct. He liked that possibility more than the others… those would have just made things more complicated for the both of them.

He was there to keep a cool palm on the back of Stiles neck, he was there to help him up when he finished, to steady him when he bent down to flush his mouth at the sink.

The light was glaring in the bathroom and he wanted nothing more than to just get back to bed and sleep until it was time to not wake up anymore, but he wasn’t sure he was quite finished yet.

Stiles blinked into the mirror. He looked like shit; skin waxy, eyes weighted down by dark, heavy bags, hair matted with sweat. He was absolutely disgusting. He watched as Peter’s reflection leant closer, handsome as always, and planted a small kiss on his temple.

He watched as black lines of pain bloomed across Peter’s lips, sneaking down along his jaw until they disappeared under his skin.

He wondered if Peter even noticed what he was doing.

He wondered what they were doing.

 

***

 

Stiles had good days and… not so good days. As much as Peter tried to take everything in stride, it wasn’t easy. Not like he had any room to complain, he wasn’t the one with a one-way ticket to nothing. But still. That didn’t mean it wasn’t hard for him too.

The first time he saw people he loved die, it was fast, almost too fast to really comprehend. Everything that mattered to him swallowed by thick, choking smoke. Now he had to do it again in slow motion, with enough time to have every moment etched into the back of his eyelids in high definition.

He came home once to Stiles fuming in the livingroom. Not completely surprising, though for once he had no idea what he did to deserve it.

“Why? Why the fuck do you have my mom’s recipes hidden in the TV stand? Did you break into my house? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Peter stopped in the doorway, his coat half off his shoulders and worked very hard not to let any emotion display on his face.

It took him a second to collect himself, and then he finished undressing, putting his shoes down next to Stiles’ mudstained sneakers.

The boy was obviously waiting for an answer, though he looked less sure of himself with every second. There was that strange glint in his eyes, a sort of second guessing that made it’s home there since Stiles started to forget things. Peter hated it.

He pulled Stiles to the couch, sitting down with the boy beside him.

“Stiles. You brought the recipes over to be able to work on your project. The drawer under the TV is yours. Not like you asked for my permission, mind you, you just kind of took it over when you realized it was empty,” Peter told him. He tried not to make a big deal out of it, but well.

Stiles swallowed, long, pale throat working for a few seconds before he could look at Peter.

“Wh… What kind of project?”

Peter wanted to shake him. Stiles just… he shouldn’t have forgotten it. It wasn’t fair that Peter had to tell him about it.

“You haven’t exactly been forthcoming, but to the best of my knowledge, you are writing a cookbook.”

Stiles looked at him like Peter lost his mind.

And really, why would a teenage boy write a cookbook?

“You are rewriting your mother’s recipes with health conscious ingredients. I think you want to give it to Melissa.”

Stiles was frowning now, looking intently at the coffee table as he tried to work out why he would do that. Not like he didn’t like Melissa, but it was a bit too much work for the mother of his best friend.

“You,” he had to take a breath before continuing, but thankfully Stiles didn’t notice. “You want to ask her to cook for your dad when she can.”

“Oh.”

That was all, just a tiny, defeated little sound. Peter’s ears hurt even from the echo of it.

He hated the bad days.

 

***

 

Peter pulled out and fell on the bed next to Stiles. His back was healing rapidly, but it still smarted with the memory of blunt nails clawing on his skin.

Stiles was silent for a while, or maybe he lost his voice, thanks to all the throaty moaning he did before finishing. Peter loved how vocal he was. He liked to hear all of it. The way Stiles’ heart picked up speed the closer he was to orgasm, the way his voice broke a bit whenever he called Peter ‘daddy’ the sound of him begging with that unmistakable, precious note of honesty.

The silence was deafening, but not unwelcome. They were way past the point of needing banter to fill out the silent places between them.

“So. You wanna go again?” Stiles asked while he worked on drawing shapes on his stomach with his own come. Seriously, Peter had no idea why he found the boy sexy.

“I’m sorry, what? Why are you still awake? We just did it twice back to back,” Peter told him incredulously. Not like he wasn’t up for the challenge - He might have had twenty years on Stiles, but he also had werewolf stamina to back it up.

Stiles flopped to his stomach making Peter roll his eyes. There went another set of sheets, ruined.

But he didn’t really mind. Not when Stiles was smiling at him, almost coyly. Of course, the boy wouldn’t have recognized ‘coy’ if it slapped him on the back and offered a beer, but he did have a certain kind of charm that was almost instinctual.

“Let’s just say, it’s for science,” he said, wagging his eyebrows. Ugh, Peter rethought everything about him being charming in any way.

“Well, I can’t exactly say no to that,” he said, eyes already glued to the way Stiles squirmed, pert little ass wiggling.

He might have created a monster.

 

***

 

There was a long string of good days. Peter wasn’t counting them, because he had the foreboding feeling that as soon as he did, they would be gone, and he would be left explaining to Stiles how he already made arrangements to transfer all of his savings into Scott’s college funds.

One day, when he came home, Stiles was not working on the cookbook. Peter knew it was already almost finished, but it was still weird to find Stiles hunched over his laptop - obviously in research mode.

“What seems to be the emergency?” Usually only pack matters had Stiles braving the internet these days. Peter saw his browser history and knew that he always ended up on medical sites whenever he went online.

“Hm? Nothing,” the boy replied, obviously distracted.

Peter had been missing distracted Stiles, it was rare to see him let himself be so engulfed in something. Stiles had a kind of alertness to him these days, like he was afraid to lose track of reality, even just for a second.

“Did you know that one of the large intestine’s primary functions is to absorb water from the remaining food going through it.”

Well.

“No, I didn’t. And I was very grateful for it,” Peter said as he undressed, getting into more comfortable clothes. So, Stiles was doing medical research again. But at least it wasn’t cancer. He hoped it wasn’t.

“Why are we suddenly interested in the purpose of bowels?”

Stiles raised an eyebrow, turning towards Peter and actually grinning when he saw his usual home attire. The boy had a baffling attraction towards him in worn clothes. Why did he ever even try to seduce him with V-necks was a mystery.

“I don’t know about ‘we’ but I’m just… double checking a few things.”

Peter acted like he was annoyed, but honestly. For once, Stiles’ eyes weren’t tired - he had been sleeping well for a few days - and for now even his nausea disappeared. It was hard not to be giddy about it. But he didn’t want the boy to know how relieved he was; he didn’t want Stiles to feel like he failed when things eventually turned to the worse again.

Because in his life they always did.

 

***

 

For a little more than a week, they had a slight gnome problem. It wasn’t anything serious, but it was enough to warrant a few compulsory pack meetings.

Peter had no idea it would be so hard to keep himself in check. He was always good at playing double games, so it shouldn’t have been difficult to act like there was nothing between them.

In reality, he felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck whenever Scott was close to Stiles. A friendly pat on the shoulder, or just anyone standing within arm’s reach and all he wanted to do was just announce how Stiles sucked him off in the car only an hour ago. Expertly.

It didn’t help that for once in his life Stiles played it completely cool, not even looking at Peter unless it was necessary. A needy, childish part of him wanted to start shit just so that his boy would finally stop talking to people and pay attention to him.

Peter never claimed to be mature.

After it was finally over he took Stiles home - to the Sheriff’s this time - and they spent a few minutes necking on the front porch like they were teenagers. Well, like both of them were teenagers.

Peter’s eyes were sharp even in the dim light of distant street lamps, so he didn’t miss the way the boy’s lips looked; all spit slick and pink from insistent bites.

“You’re my mate,” he said. It wasn’t the first time. He already told the boy on countless occasions and he wasn’t ashamed of it. It wasn’t quite ‘I love you’ but it was the closest he could manage; love was a fickle, elusive ideal. _Mates_ were a reality he knew, one he already experienced, one he never imagined to have again.

One he wasn’t sure he would survive losing a second time. Not that he fared that well after the first one either, now that he thought about it.

Stiles blinked up at him, maybe trying to read Peter’s face in the dark with his useless, human eyes.

“Okay,” he said simply.

Peter couldn’t stop his fingers tightening on the boy’s hips. Maybe it was a bit of a shock. That was not what Stiles was supposed to say. He always laughed in the face of Peter’s confession. He rolled his eyes. He shrugged, like it wasn’t his problem.

He never just took the words from his mouth and… accepted them.

“Okay,” Stiles said again, quieter and leaned in for another kiss, like he knew how much Peter needed it.

 

***

 

They were at the clinic when the shit finally hit the fan.

Derek was hurt - as per usual, Peter had no idea how he was related to someone who couldn’t win a fight to save his life - but it wasn’t anything life threatening. The pack still insisted on keeping close, and since that also included Stiles he wasn’t about to slink away.

“I will get you a salve for that,” Deaton said, examining the weeping patch of skin missing from his nephews back, before leaving them to themselves.

Stiles looked a little pale, but for once Peter was pretty sure it was only the gore and not anything nasty. Still, he couldn’t help stepping closer and putting a comforting hand on the small of his back. It was something he did so many times before that it almost felt natural. Except, they usually didn’t have an audience.

“Alright,” Lydia said, voice sharp but eyes still sharer as he looked at them. “Are you two fucking?”

Peter could feel Stiles going rigid beside him. As much as he didn’t want his boy in trouble, he couldn’t help feeling a tiny bit smug, because there was no way to stuff this back into the bag.

The room was silent. For a moment. The Scott started growling, so deep that it was barely audible for human ears.

Something in Stiles eased and he relaxed back into Peter’s support.

“Actually, yes,” the boy said.

Derek wanted to get up - probably to make an empty threat of throat ripping - but was too weak to even get off the examination table.

“What?! Stiles! Are you out of your fucking mind?” Scott asked, already wolfed out. Peter suspected that the only reason he hasn't launched on his yet was that Stiles was standing too close. Close enough to be a statement all on its own.

“No, I’m not,” he said, and even Peter was taken aback for a second by the heat behind the words. “We are together. We have been for more than three months.”

“You,” Scott growled, taking a step forward. Peter didn’t want to do it, but he still stepped in front of Stiles a bit, just in case his friend completely lost his marbles and was willing to start a fight with more or less innocent humans around. Stiles stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Scott, stop. It’s fine,” Stiles tried, but Scott wasn’t about to listen.

“What? Stiles, come on, bro. He did something to you, it’s a trick!”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Lydia added from the corner. Allison was already armed beside her.

“Yeah, he did something, alright. He saved my life,” Stiles said, voice clanging around the room like steel.

Wait, what?

“I did what?”

“He did what?”

“Derek, shut up,” Peter asked, waving towards his nephew like he wanted to swat a particularly annoying fly. For the record, he usually felt like that towards his closest family.

He looked at Stiles, searching his face. What was this about? There was a feeling of betrayal welling up in his chest, pushing him back a step.

Stiles grabbed his shirt and pulled him back before taking a deep breath and hesitantly laced their fingers together. When Peter didn’t try to get free again he squeezed his hand painfully enough that he would have winced if he was human.

“I have a tumor. No, I _had_ a tumor,” Stiles blurted out and for once everyone - including Peter - was speechless.

Peter felt the urge to get out, to get away, he had no idea what was happening and he hated it. Still, his ears were alert and didn’t pick up a single tick in Stiles’ heartbeat. It had to be true, or at least the boy had to believe it was true, a traitorous part of him whispered.

“Peter cured me. With his… fuck. Don’t laugh, but I’m pretty sure his come cured me,” he said.

It would have been funny how gobsmacked everyone looked except that Peter was just as gobsmacked.

“Wait…” he started, because seriously.

“I went to the clinic again. They did a scan and it’s gone, they called me today with the results,” Stiles said, turning to him. His face… His face was pale and hopeful and kind of scared. Which was exactly how Peter felt.

“I…” he couldn’t remember the last time he was at a loss for words, but it didn’t last long. “My _come_? Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“That is highly unlikely,” Deaton said. It was a testament of how out of it everyone was that nobody noticed him returning.

“But… but I started getting better after we… well. You know,” Stiles said, with the shadow of that same second guessing still in his eyes. Just for that, Peter wanted him to be right, no matter how ridiculous he sounded.

Deaton came in fully and started to apply the salve - that actually looked like literal shit - to Derek’s wound like this was a completely normal conversation.

“Well, not the way you think. Werewolf semen has no known healing properties,” he explained. Peter could already see the triumph in Scott’s eyes, but Deaton continued before he could get a word in.

“But, in your case, it might have acted like a… physical manifestation of something more powerful… an essence, if you would.”

“Of what?” Stiles asked, fingers twitching around Peter’s hand.

Deaton raised an eyebrow before glancing at them.

“A mating bond, of course.”

“What?” Stiles asked, and it was kind of gratifying to see him baffled for a change, after what he pulled on Peter just now.

“It’s… Well. It’s not exactly a common occurrence. It needs a really specific match: a werewolf and someone with at least some affinity for magic. See, the thing is, your magic is pretty much useless on it’s own…”

“Wow, thanks,” Stiles said, and Peter couldn’t help grinning at the tone. Or maybe it was the fact that it seemed like this might just possibly be true.

“But you could still use the powdered mountain ash. Your magic grasped the inherent power of the plant and used it.”

Lydia looked deep in thought, like she was already well ahead of them in figuring out things.

“Well, obviously Peter can’t heal someone else. But the… ‘essence’ of him that is pretty much ineffective on it’s own might have carried enough of the power of your bond that your magic could latch onto it and use _that_ to heal you.”

Ah. That made a twisted sort of sense, though Peter had a hard time to digest the information. Stiles’ palm was sweaty, but he didn’t mind.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Scott asked, suddenly back to being all puppy eyes and eagerness. Stiles lost some of the nervous tension, but he didn’t let go of Peter’s hand.

“It… It wouldn’t have made a difference, okay? There was nothing anyone could have done. Or at least that was what I thought,” he said, trailing off at the end.

“But Peter?” Derek asked, wincing from time to time as the vet kept fiddling with his back.

“Look, I’m… I can’t say that this,” Stiles started, lifting their joined hands a bit for everyone to see “would have happened, even if I didn’t get sick, but. It doesn’t matter. It did, and I’m okay now, but even if I was still dying, I would still,” his voice broke a bit, and really, Peter just couldn’t let him do it alone.

“I would be still here. As long as this little idiot will have me,” he finished, looking everyone in the eyes without shame or remorse. He lost enough already - they both have - and he would be damned if he let it happen again.

Stiles gave him a little grin. His eyes were a bit too shiny, but Peter was gentleman enough not to comment on it. Instead his pulled the boy in for a kiss.

The first kiss of the rest of their life.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at udunie.tumblr.com!


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